Me

What if the moon decided to stop pulling tides? Our boat would float in the still water, sails just going along for the ride. The icy blue canvas supports our wooden box, its never ending darkness is lonely at the docks. The shoreline buzzes in the sunlight, but take the stars from the sky and no one comes around on a cold night. I am a fisher of men, collecting pieces of everyone I meet. Some jagged, sharp to leave scars. Their corners cutting deep. Others will fit perfect, made in craftsmen's hands. When will I be complete?

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Discovering your work in print publication put a smile on my face (and the faces of all I could find to tell). I still believe in you and your many talents. You will always have a special place in my memory and heart. May you find the peace you deserve.